


Enjoy The Ride

by rabekka



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Animated Series, Harley Quinn (Comics), Suicide Squad (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Blood and Gore, Developing Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Harleen Quinzel before Harley Quinn, Harley & Joker meet before Arkham, Harley Quinn Backstory, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Jack Napier before Joker, Jackleen, Jarley - Freeform, Joker (DCU) Backstory, Joker (DCU)'s Name is Jack, Joker x Harley Week, Non-Canon Relationship, Non-abusive Joker, Past Joker (DCU)/Harleen Quinzel, Revenge Violence, Smut, Soulmates, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-12 08:27:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29506902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabekka/pseuds/rabekka
Summary: An unhappily married Harleen Quinzel meets Jack Napier, who helps her get out of a bad situation.*AU story where Harleen and Jack meet before they become Harley and Joker*
Relationships: Guy Kopski/Harleen Quinzel, Harleen Quinzel & Jack Napier, Jack Napier & Harley Quinn, Jackleen Relationship, Jarley Relationship, Joker (DCU) & Harley Quinn, Joker (DCU)/Harleen Quinzel, Joker (DCU)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 40
Kudos: 19





	1. Sentence Commuted

**Author's Note:**

> Endora told me to write a one-shot for V-Day. I said I didn't have time, but my brain didn't care! It was supposed to be a tiny one-night-stand deal, but now it might turn into a Series, cause I can't stop writing...!!!
> 
> Inspired by 'Batman Confidential' comic, issues 7 - 12 (an excellent Joker origin story, not my favorite art tho).

When Gotham’s commuter train slowed to a stop and parked at her station at 2:30am, Harleen Quinzel trudged off, not looking forward to going back to her modest apartment that she and her husband could barely afford.

Her high-school sweetheart, Guy Kopski, had lost his job at Ace Chemicals over a month ago due to cutbacks (at least that’s the story he told her). So instead of furthering her studies as an unpaid psychiatrist intern to earn the final credits towards her PhD, she had to get an actual job to support both of them until Guy could find another one.

He was procrastinating, though, whining about how no other company paid as well and he had too much experience to accept their insulting, lowball offers. After only a few rejections and his inability to settle, he started drinking more than usual. When Harleen brought it up out of concern that he should cut back, he actually slapped her across the face.

Guy had always been emotionally abusive towards her (a trait Harleen finally recognized while studying psychology), but he had never crossed the line into physical assault. She was so bewildered by the incident that she didn’t know how to react, eventually just chalking it up to a one-time, drunken mistake, ignoring it and moving on.

But like with all abusers, especially ones that drink in excess, it escalated…

Guy never hit her where it was visible, sticking to her torso for the most part. After a litany of one-sided arguments that he would instigate, the end result was always the same: her bruised and crying in the shower while he drank until passing out.

Out of desperation, Harleen offered to put her degree on hold and get a job, which seemed to alleviate his stress (resulting in a reduction of violence). She still had a stack of student loans to pay off, and that compiled with rent and bills, had them living per paycheck ever since they got married a few years prior.

Harleen desperately wanted to divorce him so she could be free from his bullshit, but that was surprisingly expensive (not to mention a volatile topic). But even if escape was viable, she had nowhere else to live and no one to lean on for support, since Guy had alienated her from all her friends throughout the years.

At this point, for the foreseeable future, Harleen was trapped, and loathing every minute of it.

The only job she managed to find on such short notice that paid fairly well because of tips, was at a college bar near the University. Her first week working there had been during finals, so customers and tips were abundant. Between semesters, though, it was a ghost town; the place was deserted on her second week of work, not to mention incredibly boring.

That was, until she met Jack…

He strolled in one night and chatted with the bar’s owner, Carl, who didn’t seem too happy with their brief conversation (or Jack’s presence in general). After Carl handed him an envelope and stormed off, grumbling about Maroni-somebody, Harleen caught Jack’s eye while she sat behind the bar reading a psychology book (trying to preserve her knowledge during sabbatical). His enticing smile and vibrant green eyes had her transfixed, unable to look away, as he moseyed over to her side of the bar.

Harleen had been hit-on, flirted with, and objectified a lot at this job after only two weeks, so her harassment-radar was keen when a smarmy customer was about to verbalize his stupidity. But with Jack… his smile was honest and she didn’t get a creeper vibe from him whatsoever. If anything, _she_ was the one who became flustered, staring too much while trying to maintain her composure.

After they both felt a connection from their first night of chitchat, Jack inquired about her work schedule and made a point to stop by at least once, usually before she closed up the place so they had more time to talk privately. Harleen was getting used to his visits, so much so that going to work was now the highlight of her life (which made going home to a useless clod she was trapped with, who didn’t care about her, demoralizing).

But tonight, after a week of consistent visits, Jack hadn’t stopped by.

At first, Harleen was slightly worried that he had gotten hurt (she deduced early that he worked for the mob), but while she was closing up the bar, her thoughts delved into disparaging self-loathing — of course Jack didn’t want to chat with her anymore, she was pathetic with her shitty marriage drama (i.e. not single), and psychology wasn’t really a fun topic for casual conversation. Plus, Guy had often told her she was nothing to look at — ‘shabby barbie’ he called her, so no other man would want to be around her except him.

Sighing loudly and angrily staving off stress tears, Harleen ambled the few blocks home, internally reprimanding herself for getting attached to a beautiful, mysterious man she barely knew. Normally on her walk home from the train, she had her finger poised on a keychain mace bottle hidden in her bag; but tonight, Harleen was too depressed to care about her safety.

She sincerely hoped that Guy would be passed out when she got home; Harleen had no energy to don her ‘happily married’ smile, pretending to have missed him all day. But at least she remembered to put her wedding ring back on this time, unlike two nights ago, which resulted in the worst damage to her body thus far.

Unfortunately, Jack had spotted a portion of the fresh bruise on her back accidentally; she tried to brush it off as a mishap, but he wasn’t convinced. Clearly her baggage was too wearisome for him to deal with, which was probably another reason why he wasn’t around tonight (though she didn’t blame him for bailing, people in her life shouldn’t have to burden themselves with concern for her).

As Harleen turned the corner on her block, she saw police cars outside her building’s entry, the seizure-inducing lights flickering rapidly. Her gait didn’t falter while she headed to the front door, though, since cops outside her building was a weekly occurrence. Thanks to Gotham’s exponentially rising crime rate, the complex had had numerous break-ins, among other criminality via the neighbors.

The front door to the building was propped open, so she waltzed right in without needing a key (very safe, she mused, rolling her eyes). Harleen was curious about which apartment got broken into this time, but when she neared the top of the stairs to her third floor unit, the unmistakable sound of cop radios squawking caused her brow to furrow.

Climbing the last few steps hesitantly, she paused on the landing and stared at the officers loitering outside her door. Harleen sighed despondently, wondering what had been stolen since they really didn’t have anything of value (except the secret stash of cash taped behind her dresser). She also wondered where Guy was, since he had no plans this evening besides getting drunk, as far as she knew. That idiot probably left the door wide open if he went out, an enticing invitation to anyone walking by.

Harleen quietly approached the officer’s backs, tilting her head, trying to see around them to survey how much damage was done. But when she spotted a large pool of blood on the floor, her eyes widened and jaw dropped as she gasped softly. Her noises had finally caught the attention of the two cops standing outside her unit, both whipping around to face her.

“Ma’am, do you live here? What’s your name?” Officer Bullock demanded in a stern, clinical voice.

Harleen stammered (more out of curiosity than fear), “I… I’m Harleen… that’s my apartment.” Peering around them again, she caught a quick glimpse of what looked like a bloody hand lying on the floor. She quietly inquired, furrowing her brow, “What happened? Is someone hurt?”

“You need to come down to the station with us, Miss, and answer a few questions,” Officer Morgan insisted with a cold, suspicious glare.

“Oh… okay,” Harleen replied meekly. What the hell was going on?

Shaking her head to clear her useless speculations, Harleen mechanically walked down the stairs while one of the officers escorted her. Bullock directed her to sit in the back of a cruiser, then left the door ajar. A detective (or so she assumed, per his clothing and demeanor) joined her in the backseat shortly after, handing her a GPD-branded blanket, which Harleen courteously accepted.

He offered her a sad expression and touched a sympathetic hand to her shoulder. “Mrs. Kopski, I’m afraid I have some bad news,” Det. Gordon started, seeming more genuine than the other two apathetic robots with guns.

Harleen raised her brows and whispered, “Did someone… get hurt?”

“Yes, ma’am; I’m so sorry, but your husband was murdered this evening,” Gordon answered as softly as he could. Noticing her speechless shock (which he was used to when giving people news like this), he continued without pause. “It appears to have been a robbery-gone-wrong, but we’ll know more as the investigation progresses.”

What Gordon wasn’t telling her yet, was that her husband appears to have been tortured to death — he was stabbed multiple times, both hands were severed, and his face had been cut savagely, resembling a glasgow smile. From his experience (and intuition), parts of it had a mob vibe, but normally a hitman would take measures to delay body identification, and prevent victim discovery in the first place. But if it wasn’t mafia-related, then Gotham potentially had another serial killer on the loose to deal with… one that was seemingly worse than Zsasz.

Harleen nodded in confirmation, gradually realizing how happy she was that Guy was dead. It felt like a weight was sloughing off her shoulders… no, she thought, not shoulders — off of her _soul_.

Gordon’s voice brought her back into focus, politely asking, “Would you mind coming down to the station and answering a few questions? Any information you have will help.”

“Yeah… that’s fine,” Harleen answered, now feeling more confident and not so perplexed.

“Wonderful,” Gordon said with a consoling smile. “If you have your cell, feel free to contact any family or friends; they can meet you at the station while we get the paperwork filled out. I’m going to have an officer drive you there, but I’ll be following right behind.” Gordon gave her one last condoling expression and closed the car door gently after he exited.

While Bullock drove out of her neighborhood, Harleen focused on maintaining proper grief composure, draping the blanket over her legs in the back seat. Guy Kopski was dead… her husband, her abuser, her prison — he was truly and unequivocally gone forever. A warm, soothing wave of serenity spread over her entire being; she still had rent and debt, a crappy bartending job, and a degree that was on hold, but oddly, this was the freest she had ever felt.

Harleen had been trapped for so long, she forgot what independence felt like…

She had to bite her lips together to prevent a beatific smile from spreading across her face, just incase officer crabby-pants espied her in the rearview mirror. Cleansing tears started to manifest in her eyes, which she gladly let loose, keeping up the ruse that she was a grieving widow.

For the rest of the short drive, Harleen let her mind drift to Jack, recalling his pleasing smile, soft hair and glorious body enveloped in sleek suits. Would he be happy for her, now that she was liberated? Last night, after he saw her fresh bruise, his eyes glowed intensely with anger; Harleen knew it wasn’t directed at her, but it was frightening… or maybe exhilarating, she couldn’t decide.

Suddenly Jack not showing up tonight wasn’t bothering her as much; Harleen had an intuitive feeling that she’d see him again soon.

\--ONE WEEK EARLIER--

Making collections from business owners for his boss, Maroni, was not how Jack wanted to spend his nights; but in order to move up the ranks, dues had to be paid. It was just taking longer than he thought it would and his patience was waning. Even though he was making good money, he still felt like the job was lacking… but lacking what, he wondered? And did he even want to get promoted, obtaining the coveted status of droll mafia capo? He had no idea… all he knew was that he was bored and uninspired.

Jack had a new collection spot this evening, a college bar near the University; apparently the owner made a bad gambling investment, thus owing the mob money — such a cliché! He decided to go there first and get it over with, then move on to his regular stops that would be far more entertaining.

After parking a few blocks away, he tucked his pistols into a double shoulder holster and donned his dark purple suit jacket. There were a few knives stashed on his person, as well, but he wasn’t expecting any trouble at this location (not tonight, at least). After a few visits, the debtors would always start to perceive Jack as unthreatening — a grave miscalculation on their part, one that resulted in harsh re-education.

Hopping out of the car, Jack smoothed back a few loose strands of his hair, then strolled down the block towards his destination. Once inside, he deduced that the place was probably one more puke stain away from officially being labeled a dive, but it was good enough for burnt-out students needing cheap booze to blow off steam.

Jack sidled up to the bar counter where a greasy guy with a huge beer gut and black pornstache stood, wiping off the countertop fruitlessly with a threadbare towel. Since finals week had come and gone, the place was quiet, all of the students having gone home or back to work until next semester.

The weathered, sweaty bartender didn’t look up, continuing his futile cleaning attempts, so Jack leaned against the counter nonchalantly and inquired, “Might you be the owner of this fine establishment?”

Carl grunted, which Jack interpreted as a ‘yes’ (or equivalently ‘fuck off’); he continued regardless, already bored with this place. “I’m here on behalf of your good buddy, Sal… I think he misses you, he talked about you all day,” Jack smirked.

At the mention of Maroni’s name, Carl finally looked up and scowled; he sighed, turned around, and pulled an envelope out of a drawer. After plopping it on the bar and shoving it across, he gruffly mumbled, “It’s all there.”

Jack tucked the envelope inside his jacket without looking inside and watched the owner stalk away, grumbling numerous, unavailing complaints. Jack pouted dramatically, then snickered, “Aww, don’t walk away mad.” He smiled and rolled his eyes as Carl kept walking, passing by a blond at the opposite end of the bar.

Carl threw a thumb over his shoulder, gesturing towards Jack, no doubt barking at her to take his drink order. When the woman glanced up at Jack and caught his eyes with her bright blue ones, his chest hitched, as if she had just knocked the wind out of him. How odd, he mused, furrowing his brow.

Harleen closed her textbook and hopped off the stool, walking over to him and offering a shy smile. “What can I get’cha?” she asked, her bartender posture at the ready. She suddenly felt underdressed compared to this shiny patron, with her faded black tee, cheap capri jeans, and hair all frumpy in a low ponytail. His suit looked expensively tailored and incredibly soft, giving Harleen a strange urge to run her hands over the velvety lapels.

Jack stammered, unable to peel his eyes away from this intriguing woman in front of him. “Um… just a whiskey shot, please.” His soft smiled faltered a bit, getting embarrassed at how flustered he was.

“Sure thing,” Harleen offered, turning around to grab the bottle off the top shelf.

Jack didn’t mean to — honestly and truly — but his eyes snapped down to her ass like magnets; he shut them quickly and shook his head. The last thing he wanted was for her to think he was leering… no doubt she probably had enough of that for ten lifetimes working in this dump.

Harleen turned back around and grabbed the cleanest shot glass from under the counter, then poured him a drink. Jack pulled a fiver out of the envelope he just collected and handed it to her instead of dropping it onto the counter. He quickly downed the shot, trying to override his tense nerves, while he watched her tuck the money in the register.

“How long have you worked here?” he asked, not using his embellished charm like he did on everyone else. Jack felt oddly compelled to stay and chat with her, a feeling he decided not to resist.

“About two weeks,” Harleen replied cheerily, then glanced towards the employees-only door to make sure her boss was still in back, out of earshot. “Two painfully long weeks,” she continued with a guilty smile, eyes widening dramatically at her admission.

Jack chuckled in agreement and glanced around the bar dolefully.

Harleen noticed his pitying expression and explained, “It was the only job I could get on such short notice.” She chewed the inside of her lip, feeling so haggard next to this guy who looked incongruous in this dingy place. Continuing out of unnecessary self-preservation, she added, “Med school is expensive.”

Jack raised his eyebrows expectantly and glanced at the textbook on the barstool she previously occupied. “What are you studying?”

“Psychiatry,” Harleen answered, then gestured her head towards his glass, silently asking if he wanted a refill. After he shook his head no, she started to empty the mini dishwasher nearby (mostly to keep her hands preoccupied… the urge to touch him was still annoyingly present).

“Sounds tough,” Jack genuinely acknowledged. He was now amusingly irked that he still had a full night’s work ahead, torn between wanting to stay and talk to her versus doing the rest of his boring collections. His choice was made for him, however, when he heard Carl gruffly yell out from the back room. “Leeny, the delivery truck is here!”

Harleen stopped unloading the glasses and sighed loudly, irritated from having her conversation interrupted. She mumbled dejectedly, “Guess I gotta go deal with that…”

Jack impulsively asked, “How late are you working?” He wasn’t really sure where he was going with his question, but it just blurted out.

Harleen paused her reluctant trek towards the back room and smiled, “Till closing, 2am.” Any other guy she would have lied to, for fear of them stalking her after she left the bar; but with this guy, it felt different for some reason.

“I’ll come back later… you can tell me which personality disorders I have.” Jack smiled, then inquired with a head tilt, “Leeny, is it?”

Harleen chuckled, then shook her head, “Ah, no, that’s just Carl’s shortened version of my name. It’s Harleen, actually… but just call me Harley.” Only her friends used to call her that, before Guy ran them off; she never realized how much she missed it until now.

“Harley,” Jack purred. “It’s been a pleasure; I’m Jack.”

“Nice to meetcha,” Harley said shyly with a blush. Carl yelled out ‘Leeny’ again from the back room, which snapped her back to reality, making her scoff and roll her eyes. “I’ll see you later?” she confirmed with a hopeful expression.

“Absolutely,” Jack professed softly, then chuckled as she beamed, gave him a quick wave, and practically skipped to the back door.

\--PRESENT DAY--

Once Harleen got settled at his desk, Gordon brought her some fresh coffee in a black GPD cup. There was a folder of paperwork nearby, which he apparently had to fill out regarding just one homicide, so she was glad for the caffeine. Once Gordon was finished asking her the basic questions, he hesitantly delved into the tougher ones.

“We think your husband may have been killed sometime around midnight, while you were at work. Now this next question is very standard procedure, I’m sorry I have to ask, it’s just for the report, but can anyone verify your whereabouts around that time?” Gordon somberly asked. He was absolutely positive Mrs. Kopski wasn’t the culprit, but it was Homicide-101 to ask the spouse for an alibi.

Harleen smiled softly, reassuring him that she didn’t take it personally. “Yes, ah… my manager, Carl; he was working with me until about 1:30, then leaves me to close the place.”

Gordon took a few notes, then continued, “Do you know if your husband had any enemies or habits that might have exposed him to criminal activity?”

Harleen’s brow rose, “No, not that I know of… you mean like, gambling or drugs?” The detective nodded, so she continued, “We were usually living paycheck to paycheck, but I never noticed any weird bank account discrepancies. He’s been drinking a lot since he got laid off, but no drugs, as far as I could tell.” Harley finished, mumbling bitterly, “He was just drunk a lot.”

Gordon wrote down her statements while nodding his head. He looked up from his papers with a concerned expression, “Now this next information, if it’s too upsetting or you want to stop, we can. There’s details to his death that, honestly, are quite different from most of the homicides I’ve come across, so any insight you have would help.”

Harleen furrowed her brow suspiciously and tilted her head, “What happened?”

“Well, from what I saw initially — and again, we won’t know specifics until the autopsy — your husband seems to have been stabbed numerous times. That type of attack is usually done by someone who personally knows the victim; overkill, we call it,” Gordon summarized, gauging the widow’s reaction to see if he needed to stop.

Harleen was still perplexed; she couldn’t think of anyone who hated Guy that much (besides her). “I don’t… I can’t think of anyone he knew who would do that. Is that how he died, from the stab wounds?”

“It’s likely that would have caused his death, yes. But there was an additional aspect to this crime that could have contributed… both his hands, well, they were severed,” Gordon tentatively informed.

Guy’s hands — the things he used to hit her with… that was definitely strange, she mused. She shook her head once, confusion evident on her pale complexion. “That’s so... odd,” she muttered, watching Gordon purse his lips and nod his head with paralleled uncertainty.

Gordon hesitated, debating if he should continue, since this poor, young woman was in shock and probably very tired. It was a pivotal detail to withhold from public knowledge, as well, since it could be crucial during an interrogation. “Now this next piece of information might be the key to our case, so I’d like to ask you not to reveal it to anyone, even his family,” Gordon requested.

Harleen wondered what else could there be; she was starting to think this wasn’t a botched robbery. “Okay, sure, no problem,” she agreed indifferently.

“Your husband’s face… it was cut in a very distinctive way,” Gordon started. Even for him, a seasoned detective, seeing someone with a mutilated face like that was disturbing. “There’s no easy way to say this, but the cut marks are what’s called a ‘glasgow smile’.” He studied the widow intently, hoping he didn’t upset her too much. But if anything could trigger a memory as to why her husband was tortured so distinctively, they could solve this case quickly.

Harleen’s eyes widened and she involuntarily snorted; she immediately threw her hand to her face to cover her mouth, feeling an incredulous chuckle coming on. “I’m sorry, that’s just so… bizarre.” She wanted to say ‘warranted’ — Guy would have a permanent grin on his face now, she thought maliciously. Serves him right for always demanding she give him a smile, simulating happiness, even if she was depressed.

Gordon concluded that Mrs. Kopski probably wasn’t going to know anything beyond what they had already discussed. Her unsettled reaction didn’t surprise him in the least; he had seen it all — the infinite range of emotions present during a family death notification, especially one this grotesque.

The detective continued, “Honestly, I’ve never seen anything like this before; but I promise you, we’re going to do everything we can to catch the perpetrator. You might want to stay with friends or family though, for a bit. We have a cleaning service that will take care of your apartment for you, but often people find it hard to go back right away.” Gordon gave her another sympathetic look after seeing her heavily sigh.

Friends or family, Harleen thought with a loud exhale… she had neither. No family living and all her friends were long gone, thanks to Guy. She could get a hotel room, she supposed, but had no extra clothing with her. Honestly, she didn’t care about the gory mess, she just wanted to go home and shower; but that’d probably look odd, considering she was supposed to be a harrowed, grieving widow at the moment.

As she was about to ask Gordon if someone could recommend a nearby motel, the desk clerk appeared. “Excuse me, detective, I’m sorry to interrupt…” She turned to address Harleen, “…your friend is here to pick you up when you’re finished. He says he’s going to wait in the lobby to give you guys privacy.”

“Thanks, Paige,” Gordon replied with a professional nod.

As if this evening couldn’t get more confusing, Harleen was now officially baffled. Who knew she was here? And who would label themselves as a friend of hers? All she could do was shake off the confusion, take a deep breath, and try to focus on Gordon again.

Sighing, the detective skimmed over his notes, then closed the file folder. “I think we’ve put you through enough this evening, Mrs. Kopski,” Gordon politely stated, then stood up from his chair, prompting Harleen to do the same. He put his hand on her arm in a comforting gesture and smiled kindly, “I’ll call you once we have more information; in the meantime, get some rest and don’t hesitate to call me if you think of anything else, or just want to check in.” He removed his hand from her shoulder and handed her his business card.

Harleen accepted it and stuck it in her purse, pondering how many times she’d need to call him to keep up the ruse of concerned, frightened widow (though admittedly, she was very curious about the whole situation). “Thank you, detective,” she replied, now feeling awake from the caffeine boost. Gordon offered to walk her down to the lobby but she declined.

As Harleen descended the steps, eager to find out who was waiting for her, she glanced around, looking for this mystery friend. She nearly tripped when she spotted a familiar profile; Jack was sitting casually with one ankle balanced on the opposite knee, an arm draped over the back of the immovable lobby bench, thumbing his phone in the other hand.

A barrage of questions ran through her mind, too many to keep up with, so she just kept heading down the staircase automatically. As if Jack sensed her presence, he glanced up and smiled when he saw her. Harley gave him a soft, but confused smile back, then tilted her head in question. How the hell did he know she was here?

Jack tucked his phone away and stood up as Harley drew closer, wanting so badly to embrace her, but they hadn’t quite crossed that physicality line yet.

When she stopped in front of him, Harley succinctly stated, “Hi.” She didn’t know what else to say, confusion was wracking her brain.

“Ready to go?” Jack stated, smiling charmingly.

“I, um… yeah... how did you…” Harley started, but each question was funneling to escape her mouth at once, causing her to stutter. Screw it, she thought with a shrug, it was late and her mind was at the apex of disarray, so she decided to give up.

Jack saw the befuddled expressions flow over her face swiftly until she seemingly gave up. “It’s a long story, we can talk later,” he offered, trying to ease some of her mental exhaustion.

Harley nodded her head in silent agreement, then happily hooked her hand around his arm when he stuck out his elbow in an escort gesture. His shirt was so soft, she noticed, not to mention his natural scent was amazing and his body radiated warmth. Harley took a chance and pulled herself a smidgeon closer to him, immediately exhilarated by the charged energy she felt with their incipient contact.

When they walked out of the station, Jack steered her towards his car parked a few blocks away. He spoke up, genuinely concerned, “How are you doing?” He had _no_ clue how he was going to tell her he killed Guy… or if he even should. Would she be upset? Scared of him? Would she want to tell the police? Her douchebag husband needed to die, regardless, but he hoped Harley wouldn’t disappear from his life because of his actions.

Though just knowing she was safe, and not trapped or unhappy anymore, would sustain him if she left… right?

Harley considered her reply for a moment, deciding to be honest, since Jack knew more about her than anyone in her life right now (and she never felt like she had to hide herself around him, except the physical abuse details).

“Good, actually… I’m free now,” she wistfully stated with a smile. On impulse, Harley turned her head and looked at Jack, feeling bolder now that she wasn’t shackled anymore. “I missed you tonight… at the bar,” she softly admitted.

Jack felt his stomach flip; he glanced at her with a pleased smile. “I was… a little busy. But I had to see you,” he trailed off, unsure how to even finish that thought without divulging too many details.

Harley sighed contentedly with a smile, but couldn’t resist rhetorically asking, “I’m really curious how you knew I was here… and what happened. But, I guess I don’t care, you’re here and that’s all that matters.” She never used to just say what was on her mind before, always having to keep her thoughts submerged, hiding herself around everyone and feigning complacency.

Jack hummed in agreement; they could talk about all of it later, he’d wait for her to truly ask, whenever she was ready. When they reached his car, he opened the passenger door for her; Harley slipped in with a blush at his courtesy and buckled up. Jack plopped down in the drivers seat, turned on the car and pulled out of the parking spot.

“So, was there somewhere specific you wanted to stay tonight? I’m guessing your home is off-limits for a bit,” Jack asked, chewing his bottom lip in contemplation, hesitating blurting out his wish that she would stay with him.

“I guess a hotel,” Harley mumbled, recalling that she had no family and Guy’s relatives hate her.

She scowled, then suddenly remembered she was wearing her wedding ring. Harleen had slipped it on during the train ride home, so Guy wouldn’t hurt her again for not wearing it. She lifted her hand and glared at the repulsive manacle, scoffed, then wrenched it off her finger.

It was on the cheap side, since they really didn’t have much money back then (which she honestly didn’t care about); but the most distasteful aspect — it was the opposite of her style! Orange gems, her least favorite color, wrapped around a clashing gold band… Guy couldn’t have picked a worse ring for her; it always reminded Harleen that he didn’t care to observe her tastes at all (and she was pretty obvious about what colors she liked: red and black, easy-peasy).

Harleen pretty much assumed Guy went to the first jewelry store he saw and chose the cheapest ring within minutes, not bothering to even look. It started to make her feel sick… Harley rolled down the window and chucked it outside with a disgusted grunt, hearing it clink as it bounded down the sidewalk out of sight.

Jack glanced at her with a raised eyebrow and asymmetrical smile; Harley seemed to be taking her newfound freedom well, he mused happily. Using the ring disposal as a catalyst, he mustered up the courage and took his chance. “So, if you want, I have a spare bedroom at my place… if you didn’t want to spend money on a hotel, I mean. For tonight or longer… you can say no, though, I won’t be offended. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” he stuttered, subtly shaking his head and huffing at his inability to articulate a simple, friendly offer.

Harley beamed at Jack’s shyness, trying to hide her elation at what he proposed. “I would love that… as long as I’m not intruding.”

“Not at all,” Jack responded, his voice giddier than he meant it to be.

Harley smiled and sighed with relief; she propped her elbow up on the opened window frame and rested her head on it, enjoying the crisp, chilly air. She peacefully watched the street lights undulate over the hood during their comfortably silent drive, letting the stress of her past life drizzle away.


	2. Thank You

\--ONE WEEK EARLIER—

Jack returned that first evening as promised, earlier than expected, much to Harleen’s elation; closing up the bar by herself was always so boring (and creepy, if she was being honest).

Carl was still working when Jack showed up, suspiciously incredulous as to why he returned; but he left soon after realizing Jack was going to hang out, deciding to be smart and not question the mob lackey’s motives. There were a couple of customers lingering, as well, so Harley’s attention was divided, but as it got closer to closing time, her and Jack were finally alone.

After the usual life overviews were exchanged, they delved into more casual conversation, becoming fast friends. At the end of that first night, both had felt an instant connection, as if they had known each other their whole lives. To calm her nerves, Harley had imbibed a bit, which loosened her tongue; so when Jack predictably inquired about her marital status, Harley couldn’t avoid ranting.

She sighed despairingly, avoiding his eye contact, “Oh, ya know, same old story — boy meets girl, wants to date; girl is enamored because the popular boy is interested in a bookworm like her; boy convinces girl they should go to the same college and live together; boy eventually proposes and girl thinks they’ll live happily ever after.”

Harley paused as her eyes darkened, slowly pinching into an unblinking glare while she stared at the counter intensely. “But after awhile, girl finally sees the real him, and what a manipulative, lying asshole he is. How he wasted years of her life and energy, isolating her from her friends, and trapping her in a marriage full of his narcissistic, selfish bullshit. And now she’s too depressed and exhausted to leave, even though she needs to before things get even worse; but she can’t, because divorce is expensive and she has nowhere to go.”

Jack avidly listened to Harley’s rant, getting angrier that she was essentially a prisoner to some cullion that didn’t deserve to lick the ground she walked on. His mind was already churning with creative ideas for how to get rid of him…

Harley continued with the finale of her verbal purge, her voice lowering to just above a whisper. “Now at this point, girl wishes boy was dead, and would kill him herself, but the spouse is always a suspect and she has no experience with murder. And even if it was self-defense, his hateful family would hire an attorney, so she’d be jailed for manslaughter.”

Punctuating her tirade with a heavy sigh, Harley finally peeled her eyes off the counter and saw Jack watching her intently with his jaw clenched. To hide how flustered she was, Harley swiftly grabbed her wine cooler and took a quick swig. “Sorry,” she apologized with a chuckle. “Guess I’ve been holding that in awhile.”

The concerned look Jack gave Harley only added to her discomfort, unfortunately; she wasn’t used to people showing her sympathy. Feeling exposed, Harley quickly changed directions, smirking softly, “Isn’t the bartender supposed to be the therapist, not the other way around?”

Jack chuckled and nodded, still curiously worried about her situation, but acquiesced to her change of subject. Clearly Harley felt safe enough to open up a little bit with him, even if she was buzzed. He knew she was keeping something big hidden about her marriage, but Jack didn’t want to speculate; they had just met and he didn’t want Harley to feel uncomfortable around him, so he decided to let the topic go… for now.

***

For the rest of the week, Jack came back to visit Harley towards the end of her shifts. They talked about everything and nothing, relishing in the comfortable, stress-free conversation. Harley concealed her wedding ring in her pocket after that first night, not wanting the negative reminder of being shackled in Jack’s presence.

Unfortunately, Harley had gotten so used to removing it, that she forgot to put it back on one evening… and of course, Guy hadn’t passed out yet when she got home. She tried giving him an excuse of removing it to clean, but he wouldn’t listen to anything she was saying, already drunk and beyond reason. After Guy yelled at her for being an ‘ungrateful cunt’, he threw her into the wall; when Harley lost her balance and fell to the floor, he kicked her lower back so hard that she felt it resonate throughout her scalp.

The next night at work, Jack spotted a sliver of the purple blemish when Harley’s shirt rode up as she was reaching for a bottle on the shelf. She tried to brush it off as an accident, but Jack knew better; as delicately as possible, he was able to finally get her to admit what happened. Harley assured him it was being handled, but either way, it was the excuse Jack was looking for to justify getting rid of that loser.

Luckily, Jack’s flexible schedule left him time to inflict a little torture; he would have loved for Harley join him and take a turn, but it was more important to give her plausible deniability and maintain her alibi. There’d be plenty of opportunities in the future for Harley to unleash a little pent-up rage… he’d make sure of it.

Around 11pm the next evening, Jack was able to coerce his way inside the couple’s apartment while Harley was at work. Guy was inebriated when Jack arrived, reeking of booze and sweat, so all it took to subdue him was a simple chokehold.

Once Guy was gagged and duct-taped to a chair, Jack explained why he was there, amusingly observing the range of emotions his prisoner emitted. After Jack stabbed him deftly in a few choice spots, ensuring minimal blood loss and maximum pain, the jagged smile came next. Dismembering Guy’s hands for hitting Harley pretty much guaranteed absolute loss of consciousness, so Jack finished up his vengeful torment, cutting the tape tourniquets off at the end, so Guy would finally perish.

Not wanting Harley to find the body, unsure how she’d react to the carnage, Jack made an anonymous phone call to the police to make sure they got there before she came home. After cleaning himself up at his place, Jack drove to Harley’s building to wait and see if the cops would bring her to the station for questioning like he assumed.

He wasn’t sure where their friendship would head after tonight, but since he was trying to embrace chaos and the unknown more often these days, Jack decided to just sit back and go with the flow.

\--PRESENT DAY--

Harley assumed Jack made decent money per his suits, but didn’t flaunt it at all with his apartment or car, which she admired greatly. After he gave her a verbal tour, Jack directed her to the spare bedroom with a quaint en-suite bathroom.

Before Harley hopped into the shower, Jack gave her a red t-shirt and some black boxers she could sleep in, treating them as if they were luxurious, rare silks; Harley giggled and formally accepted his offering. He volunteered to get her some food but she declined, having no appetite at the moment, so Jack left to give her privacy.

While Harley showered the greasy bar stink off her body, the newfound freedom she felt was converting slowly into confidence. All that shit Guy used to say to her, that no one else would ever want to be around her… it was a lie, which she subconsciously knew, Harley just didn’t have any evidence to back it up to herself. It was like she had accepted her situation of being trapped, and lost the ability and energy to care.

When she finished showering, Harley toweled off and braided her wet hair over one shoulder. She scrutinized the healing bruises on her pale skin, each at a different stage of regeneration. Jack knew about the recent one, having spotted it just last night, but the others were light or easily hidden.

Harley continued to ponder Jack’s absence from the bar tonight, plus him knowing she was at the police station. Even though she was already beginning to recuperate emotionally from being with an abuser, Harley didn’t quite fully believe that someone would actually kill Guy for her.

The murder part didn’t bother her at all, not even the apparent torture that was inflicted; it was the fact that another person had actually helped her… had CARED about her when she was incapable of helping herself. And the best part of this situation — Jack wasn’t saving or rescuing her like some damsel in distress; rather, he was just providing support like any friend would, utilizing the distinct skills he possessed, without asking anything in return.

The basic kindness Jack showed her, caring about her, listening to her… it was overwhelming and exhilarating simultaneously. It had been ages since anyone had been nice to her without an ulterior motive (though Harley supposed her being unmarried benefited Jack, if he was interested in her that way, but so far he hadn’t tried anything).

However, just to appease her curiosity, she wanted to ask Jack if he killed Guy, otherwise her mind would race all night. Harley was convinced he did, but something inside of her wanted to hear him say it out loud, as if it would cement their friendship. Then they’d always have that to bind them together, no matter what happened in the future.

After Harley slipped on the borrowed tee (deciding to forego the boxers since the shirt was long enough to cover up), she ambled out of the guest bedroom.

*

Jack was lying on his back in bed, one arm tucked behind his head under the pillow, his other resting on his bare stomach. He let his thoughts drift while he stared up at the ceiling, thinking fondly about Harley. Yes, she was currently naked in his guest shower, but he was thinking past that aspect… beyond the physical.

He felt a palpable difference in her energy tonight, but it would take time for her to fully shake off years of mental abuse (not to mention the recent physical shit, too). Jack wanted to give her whatever space she needed, to let Harley establish what she wanted her future to be. Did he want to be with her? Yes, badly. But having her feel like she owed him for killing her abuser, that’d be abhorrent.

Jack figured she knew he had done it, or at least would find out soon, and hoped it wouldn’t affect their friendship. And Harley did admit to him she wanted Guy dead… but ‘wanting’ and ‘experiencing’ are vastly different once reality sets in (as he knew full well). Either way, someone needed to kill that motherfucker, and for him it was easy to accomplish and not get caught.

If Harley didn’t want him in her life after she found out, he’d accept it and try to move on; just knowing she was free to do whatever the hell she wanted was enough. But when they had first met, Jack spotted an underlying, fervid intensity in her… a glimmer of darkness behind her eyes that paralleled his own, lying dormant, aching to be released.

Deciding to stop uselessly ruminating, Jack took a deep breath and closed his eyes to get some sleep; there was no point in predicting what the future held. A minute later, though, he heard a faint knock against his ajar bedroom door.

“You asleep?” he heard Harley whisper.

“No, what’s up? You ok?” Jack replied softly, the dark bedroom warranting quiet voices. His stomach fluttered pleasantly when he turned his head to see her standing at the door with his shirt on. As he watched Harley meander over to his side of the bed, his heartbeat fluctuated pleasantly; she sat down near his hip and tucked her legs up ‘mermaid’ style, then fingered the hem of her top.

Jack let his gaze drift over the moonlit beauty in front of him, with her glowing hair and luminescent skin. He happily noticed she was just wearing the shirt with no boxers… Jack nearly chuckled at how breathless Harley made him. His feelings only intensified when she caught his eyes with hers, sparkling with vigor and curiosity.

When Harley knocked on Jack’s door, she didn’t expect him to be shirtless; the moonlight gave his skin an exquisite chalk-white appearance that she found highly appealing. After sitting next to him, she locked eyes with his to purposefully avoid ogling; normally bare chests on men didn’t affect her, but with Jack… it was an amusing struggle to remain platonic. In order to occupy her fingers and avoid the urge to touch his soft skin, she played with the hem of her shirt.

“Can I ask you a question?” Harley whispered, tilting her head a bit, maintaining eye contact.

“Of course,” Jack answered gently; he purposefully kept his hand behind the pillow to resist skimming his fingers over her bare knee.

Harley paused a moment, studying Jack’s eyes, losing herself in his abyss. “Was it you? Did you kill him?” she asked quietly, but without reservation. (Harley refused to speak Guy’s name anymore, the taste of it on her tongue was acidic.)

Jack’s brow furrowed and he took a deep breath; his eyes searched her face for any trace of fear or worry, but thankfully saw none. “Yes, I killed him,” he admitted reticently.

Harley took a moment to absorb his answer, her heartbeat steadily rising as she chewed her bottom lip. “You did it… for me? To help me?” she shyly inquired, longing to hear Jack say it out loud and affirm her speculations unfiltered.

Jack was a bit puzzled by her question, but he wanted to reassure Harley that of course it was for her… that he’d do anything for her. It was a struggle trying to formulate a reply that didn’t involve him getting effusive, or professing feelings he shouldn’t at this moment.

Ultimately, he didn’t trust himself to speak at length, so he caught her gaze and nodded his head. “Yes,” he summarized, whispering again.

Harley’s heart was pounding against her ribs now, her entire being exhilarated and charged. It was amusing how Jack could make her feel so confident and flustered at the same time. Fuck it, she thought; she wasn’t going to be scared or meek anymore — she was done hiding. If Jack didn’t want her, he could just tell her so and she’d sleep in the other room (with their awkward friendship pending). Harley swallowed the nervous lump in her throat and shifted up to her knees, then slid one knee to the other side of Jack’s hips, sitting astride his sheet-covered pelvis.

When Harley straddled him, Jack inhaled sharply, and instantly moved his stagnant hands to rest on her thighs. His entire body reacted instantly to her… electrified by this bewitching goddess perched on top of him. Jack figured she had felt continually dominated for the past few years, in every aspect of her life, so he was going to let her run the show. In fact, he happily mused, nothing would please him more than to let this gorgeous woman do whatever she wanted to him.

After Jack placed his hands on her thighs, Harley’s budding confidence rushed back in droves — he wanted her, too! She reflexively tucked her bottom lip between her teeth and slowly feathered her fingers up from his stomach to his chest, bending her body leisurely toward him at the same time. Harley heard Jack’s relaxed exhale and she watched his eyes flutter closed, smiling as he struggled to keep them open. She continued her trajectory and leaned down to kiss him, wrapping one hand around the back of his neck, the other remaining on his chest.

Both inhaled deeply when their lips touched, tenderly kissing, reveling in the softness and unable to handle any more physical contact at the moment. Jack’s hands tightened on her thighs and he rubbed his thumbs over her velvety skin. Harley hummed quietly in pleasure, gently running her nails through his hair at the base of his head; this prompted Jack to gradually run his hands up her thighs and under the shirt. He stopped just before her hips, feathering his fingers back and forth over her legs.

Just that slight shift in placement had Harley’s groin throbbing, desire shooting through her. She delved her tongue into Jack’s mouth, growling tantalizingly, inducing an alluring hum from him. Jack shifted his hands to grasp her hips, letting one hand continue its path around to grip her bare rear. He knew Harley didn’t have the boxers on, but he groaned anyway, reality confirming that she was bottomless.

Harley broke off the kiss to sit up, abruptly pulling the shirt up and off her body. The energy immediately shifted for both of them, turning from basic want to unhinged need. Harley dove back down to kiss Jack desperately, whimpering at the feel of their bare skin finally making contact. Jack moved his hand to her lower back and pressed down so Harley could feel his erection through the sheets. She broke the kiss again to catch her breath and scoot down a tiny bit, kissing and licking his neck in the process.

As Harley shifted herself, seeking more contact between their groins, Jack snaked his hands up her torso, grazing his thumbs over the sides of her breasts. When Harley tilted her hips and ground down on his member while licking his chest, Jack growled achingly as his eyes rolled closed. He wanted to be enveloped by her soft, wet warmth badly, but he resisted, letting her set the pace (which was a delicious turn-on anyway).

Harley, feeling the same urgent need to connect physically, stopped grinding and shifted back, swiftly peeling the sheets off of Jack’s lower half. Once they were crumpled at the end of the bed, she ran her hands down his stomach and slipped her fingers under the waistband of his boxers. Jack, instantly regretting not sleeping naked, quickly helped her shove them down his legs.

Without hesitation, Harley climbed back onto him and positioned herself above Jack’s erection, grasping him in her hand and rubbing the head across her pulsing opening, causing both to groan and shudder in pleasurable agony. Jack placed his hands back on Harley’s thighs, gripping them tightly at feeling how wet she was getting; his breathy curse turned into a hitched moan as she slid slowly down his length.

Harley gasped, then whimpered as her eyes fluttered closed; she spread her legs wider to sheath all of him, pressing down fully, then pausing to compose herself. Her body was trembling even though she hadn’t started to thrust yet, and Jack seemed to need a moment as well (if she was interpreting his arduous breathing and furrowed brow correctly).

Once she was situated, Harley exhaled and braced her hands on his chest, then started sliding steadily up and down his erection. They’d only just begun, but sex had never felt like this before, not by a long shot. (With Guy, it was a boring, mechanical act, and so routine; she wasn’t sure if she’d ever experience the ecstasy everyone always raved about. Any time she tried to experiment or change tactics, he’d insolently refuse.)

Jack’s mind had pretty much shut down the moment Harley lowered herself onto him; she was so warm and wet… his body was no longer under his control. Harley was pulling sounds and trembles out of him at random with her tender thrusts. Jack forced his eyes open to watch her; the brighter moonlight streaming through the window made her shine like an ethereal being.

When Harley started riding him faster, she caught Jack’s gaze and offered him an alluring, radiant smile that spoke volumes. He hummed in pleasurable agreement and bit his bottom lip, his eyes growing heavy and threatening to close again. Jack snaked a hand up her side to caress her breast, eliciting a deep, strained growl from her.

“C’mere,” Jack cajoled in a whisper, bringing the hand up to her neck to guide her mouth down to his. Harley adjusted her thrusts to smaller, languid ones, tilting her hips while she and Jack kissed softly. He grasped a handful of her hair gently, then ran his other hand down her back to her rear, wondering if he had ever felt anything so soft. (Harley felt Jack’s hand brush across her fresh bruise, which she had completely forgotten about, but was glad he hadn’t noticed her slight twitch.)

As Jack grabbed a handful of her round, firm ass, he planted his feet on the mattress and met her thrusts, making sure to match the pace she set. Harley whimpered as Jack tilted her head back to pepper her jawline with kisses and licks; she leaned forward to bury her head in his neck, licking and biting his pulse, humming contentedly. Her altered position persuaded Jack to take over thrusts, gripping her ass with both hands and penetrating deeper.

Harley mewled at the increased depth; her clit was begging for attention, throbbing mercilessly, so she gave in and sat back up. She braced one of her hands on his sternum and used the other to rub with herself, stroking and circling in time with her movements. Jack grasped one of her hips and massaged her breast with his other hand, brushing his thumb over her nipple, then teasingly circling her areola.

Listening to Jack’s growls and the slick sounds of their fucking had Harley already feeling the familiar, tense buildup of pressure spreading throughout her sex. Normally she needed more time and effort to cum (which Guy hated, of course), but with Jack… she smiled happily, realizing it would be fairly simple. By the looks of him, Jack was fervently resisting climaxing (a lovely boost to her ego), so she wanted to try something to feed her libido and maybe distract him.

Harley slowed her thrusts down, smiled at Jack lustfully and asked, “Tell me how you did it… how many times did you stab him.”

Jack inhaled as her heady voice brought him back to into focus, a roguish smile spreading across his face. His brow furrowed and he swallowed, trying to get his bearings, urging his brain to work. “Nine times… I think,” he replied between Harley’s thrusts, then groaned when she ground down on his length, circling and undulating her hips firmly. 

Harley hummed in pleasure with his answer and the fervid reaction it produced, so she continued, “What else did you do?” Even though Gordon gave her the overview, she still wanted to hear him say it in that throaty, sex-addled voice of his.

“Cut his… hands off,” Jack whispered while running his hands over Harley’s fevered skin.

Harley paused the attentions to her clit and leaned forward, bracing both hands next to his head and brushing her lips over his. She went back to mini thrusts, enticing him to take over after his hands gripped her hips tightly. “And his face?” Harley whispered, licking his lips with a flick of her tongue. “Tell me, please,” she implored, skimming her lips over his with a lust-laden growl.

Jack smiled and chuckled softly, enjoying seeing this different side to Harley — a playful, yet malevolent side he knew was buried beneath anxiety and pain. He forced himself to thrust slower, feathering his fingers up her sides, deciding to comply indulgently. A puckish smirk spread across his face with one eyebrow raised; he hummed in pleasure, groped her rear with both hands, and teased, “You really wanna know?”

Harley simpered as she leaned in for a quick, gentle tug of his bottom lip, followed by a sensuous lick up his chin. Jack noticed her eyes were glowing with that familiar fervor; there was much more buried there, he suspected, and was excited to watch her evolve and emerge from the cocoon of her former life.

“Yes… please. Tell me… pretty please,” Harley coaxed, biting her bottom lip, her incendiary gaze boring into his. She squeaked happily when Jack suddenly sat them both up; Harley wrapped her arms around his shoulders as Jack moved one hand to her upper back, spreading his fingers wide. Jack growled and moved his head to the side of hers, brushing his soft lips against Harley’s ear, feeling her shiver with anticipation.

“I’ll tell you… but only if you touch yourself,” Jack requested in a gravelly whisper.

Harley hummed affectionately, then slid one of her hands down to her clit while Jack brushed his nose over her jawline. She resumed the steady thrusts and rubs combination from before, giving herself over to only sensation as she picked up speed, brushing her nipples against Jack’s chest with each bounce. Harley released a shuddering exhale after feeling how quickly her climax was building.

Once Jack felt her thighs tighten, knowing there was no way he could hold back when she came, he decided to answer her query. Moving a hand to fist her hair firmly, Jack lifted his lips back to her ear and whispered in his venom-laced voice, “I sliced his cheeks open… and gave him a bloody smile.”

Harley let herself loose and rode Jack as hard as she could, vigorously rubbing her tender, swollen clit. She clamped her arm tighter around Jack’s shoulders and tucked her head into his neck, attempting to meld her body to his.

Jack groaned when she picked up speed, wishing he could thrust fuller from his position, but it didn’t matter… Harley riding him and making delectable noises brought him close quickly. He tightened his grasp on her hair and growled some encouragement, “Fuck me, Harley… make me cum.”

A whimper hitched in Harley’s throat when Jack’s voice brought her up to the precipice; she clenched her thighs and pierced herself on him a few more times. Moaning into Jack’s neck, she came, her orgasm endlessly waving and making everything around her fade to nonexistence. A few rebellious tears slid down her cheek, all of her emotions too overwhelming in this moment of abject bliss.

When Jack felt Harley’s walls pulsate around his erection, it pushed him over the edge without hesitation. He tucked his face into the crook of her neck and pressed down on her lower back, burying himself in her as deep as biology would allow. Jack gently bit her shoulder while groaning and trembling through each hard, pulsing surge.

Both held onto each other as their climaxes ebbed, panting and trying to catch their breath. Harley retracted her arm that was stuck between them, dropping it lifelessly to her side. Jack peeled his head away from her neck and brushed his nose against her cheek; he released his grasp on her head and smoothed errant strands of hair off her face while surveying her hazy, satisfied expression.

They kissed lazily after Harley smiled at him, then touched their foreheads together, neither wanting to move right away. To get more comfortable, Jack slowly lowered back down on the bed, bringing Harley with him. She rested her head partly on his chest and placed a hand over his heart, feeling the beat steadily slowing, lulling her into a post-coitus daze. Jack stroked her back lightly with his fingertips and placed his other hand on her knee, then pressed his nose against her silky hair.

Harley couldn’t remember the last time she was this relaxed or had felt this safe. She was always on edge at home with Guy, waiting for his next move, trying to anticipate his reactions to her inconsequential tasks. But now, Harley didn’t need to worry anymore… she was finally free to let go and be herself.

Just as she was starting to doze off, Jack’s raspy voice brought her back to life. “Wanna get under the covers?”

Harley giggled sleepily, glad that he wanted her to stay and sleep in his bed. “Mm, yeah, gonna clean up first, though.” She felt Jack hum in agreement, but couldn’t bring herself to get up. Finally she inhaled deeply, then pushed herself up and off of Jack, both of them grunting at the feel of their bodies parting. Harley sloughed off the bed while grumbling incoherently, making Jack chuckle as he followed her off the bed to clean up and grab cold water for them.

After they were both rehydrated and cleansed, they flopped back onto Jack’s bed naked. Once settled, lying on their sides facing each other with limbs entwined, Harley tucked her head safely into Jack’s chest. She luckily didn’t have the energy to ponder what tomorrow would bring, as far as Guy’s family drama that would ensue, how long she’d have to play the grieving widow for them and the police, or even her and Jack’s relationship status.

For once, Harley wasn’t worried or stressed about her future; she could finally relax and enjoy the ride.

Before falling into a deep sleep, she managed to utter a sincere, slightly muffled ‘thank you’. Jack sweetly kissed the top of her head and tightened his grip on her, humming throatily before they both passed out.


End file.
